


Love Me Broughte

by beautifullyheeled



Series: Undrentide Saga [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fawnlock, Love at First Sight, Magical Realism, Magical Tattoos, Multi, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:17:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/pseuds/beautifullyheeled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John follows his heart towards the love of his lifetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very lighthearted fic, but is rated M so there are no surprises later in the saga. This is also world building intensive, but I have been told that it is enjoyable.
> 
> It is my take on the world of Fawn!lock. I hope you fall in love with it as much as I have. 
> 
> All Greek Translated at the end.

Love me fedde  
and Love me ledde  
and Love me lette here...

Love me Broughte ~ Mediaeval Baebes

 

Soft filtered light came gently down through the canopy of the dense wooded glen casting hazy beams along the mossy floor. He had created a small bower for himself in the hollow of interlaced root systems from the old tree. Warmth and security radiated his wintering over home that was now carpeted with soft leaves, a smile softly pulled at the corner of his mouth as he strung the overhang with a few garlands of the fragrant flora. He had already gotten a few appreciative glances from others who had begun the same process in preparation for the Fall, all setting wide perimeters for themselves and their eventual pairing.

The walls were packed earth densely corded with buttress and sinker roots he had polished to a fine sheen. He had been fortunate enough to be able to barter for a few stone sconces that had been masterfully crafted into wall cups in the shape of deep curling leaves that would glow quite nicely once the low’s were lit within. He would have to remember to add a few herbs within to garner the favor of fertility as well as add a bit of domesticity, the warmth of a proper bower.  A sense of pride filled him as he finished his preparations, hopefully he would please his pairbond with his careful preparations.

He’d been told stories around the bondfires in the Spring ever since he had been a young faun, but now as a satyrisci, it was time for him to join the Sikinnis Dance and hunt for his mate. Always there, the pure sweet drive to find ones Fated early on while in one's youth. It was the closest pairing possible, the Fall was supposed to be the most profound moment a satyr could experience. Waves of exhilaration were running through their group in anticipation of that moment, hope touched their hearts that they would Fall within the Autumn, beyond that many held fast the belief they would during the Loosing.

It had begun for their group in Spring. The lot of them budding velvety antlers, their fur thickening to a glossy sheen as their pelts curled as the fine fur lengthened to add another layer of protection for their péos until the time of their rutting. Many had taken to sheering some of it thinking it more fanciful or possibly inviting. As their time grew closer, some had begun to braid in small polished stones, shells, even some of the flora had been seen from time to time. Even now a few of his friends had begun polishing their hooves to a high sheen, which made everyone laugh good naturedly about out-showing the doe that they would be dancing with when the air became crisp and Autumn was upon them.

For now it was them, in the same seclusion as were the doe. Not to say there were not females in their camp, they were proud to have one in their midst to bower with. She was _charitoméni polemistís_ , but had chosen them instead of the doe camp, the honor was all theirs. She would run beside them but understood she would be guarded on the night of the revelry so she would not be mounted by a rogue buck. The whole conclave knew one another intimately when it came to scent, and this was no exception, and they would scent if she were in distress. There had also been mention of a male residing in the doe camp, but no description had made it’s way to them other then the satyrisci in question was very quick witted and very good with his _apókryfes_.

A few of the satyrisci had begun to break off from preparation in favor of play to work out the twitching just under their skin, he knew this restless itching well. It made your hide twitch and the hair on your arms stand up. So very uncomfortable. He gave his work one more look  then decided it was almost eventide and the day had been long. His bower was well worth the effort. He decided to gather with the others to choose a distraction until the sun left them for slumber.

“John!” William called happily from just up the path. “Care for a swim? Bring your pipes?”

“Only if you bring your drums to fire tonight!” He laughed out as he ducked back between the open roots for his small instrument. “Besides, me taking these along doesn’t mean they’ll get any use. Gods know I could use a swim. How’s your bower coming then?”

William continued on jovially discussing his preparations as the two companionably walked the well worn trail through their home to the lake. They could scent their companions excitement just as they broke through into the meadow to witness the game of lake jousting coming to a boisterous conclusion. Two of their friends fell hard backwards into the lake causing a large wave and splashdown to rain as if from the sky and laughter fill the air.

“Hold on, I’ve got to set these down!” John slowed just long enough to drop the pipes on the soft grasses before William pulled him in as well. The two whooped as they dove, the inviting water cooling their hides, and swam toward the rest of the group ready to usurp the winning team. A few doe had come to watch the play, their eyes appreciatively scanning the bucks. The bucks, in return, acted as if they were just having a lark and completely ignorant of the small group of doe on the far bank. They all had been snatching glances, but loved the game so remained stalwart as the next two teams shouldered up for play.

“We’ve got next!” William tuted loud enough for the others to hear. “John and I’ll show you how it is done!”

“Lots of bravado coming from you William, you sure John can reach?” The dark pinch nosed satyrisci with the twisted chin hair jibed before whooping a challenge to their backs as they waded to the area the mock-fighting was being waged. “I should think he might have been better to join the doe over at the far bank; safer _foréfthrafsto_.”

“Hermes help you, Sylvia.” John coloured brightly from tip to chin, he could feel the heat spreading, the rebuff had stung. “You’ll be in the lake in moments!”

It was known John was amongst the shorter set of satyrisci, but it said nothing of his prowess or his sheer insurmountable will. He was a healer, a apókryfes wielder, size hardly mattered in his caste and the other buck knew this fact. Sylvia himself had wanted so much to pass the trials, but he just did not have the will for it. Even so, his caste, as a tradesman was just as important and Sylvia should not take out his self loathing on others. The young buck would even have the chance to travel much more- no, he needed to be brought to knee.

William and John shared a silent discussion before the taller of the two knelt, the waterline just below William’s eyes as they focused intently on Sylvia as he allowed John to straddle his neck. Once he was secure, John met the challengers eyes as well with his arms open hands facing the sky, the signal clear to all around the challenge was received. The challenging buck grunted and looked to his friend to carry him in the joust, a look of mild relief when his friend accepted. As Sylvia settled a ring formed around them as the tension ratcheted high and free in the air, even to the notice of the doe that had been passively ogling them.  

One in particular, a dark furred doe with large green flowers twined along the base of her antlers stood up to better see the match. Along with her, a willowy ivory doe with ebon curls stood slightly behind, as if unsure they shouldn’t leave was possibly speaking to her. They both must have come to an agreement as they stayed as they were, the darker most assuredly shielding her friend. A shield-doe in the making that one was, he’d pass the information on to their guardian. They could always use keen eyes and brave hearts, John though it even possible that she had already apprenticed given her stance.

“Well, we haven’t much of the daylight left!” He goaded the others. “Are we ready?”

“Didn’t think you want to be beat so swiftly Woat’s son!” Sylvia sneered as he signaled his readiness. “You’ll still be picking off lake grass at mealtime!”

The clash was instantaneous, both bucks immediately vying for control of the other. For the moment, his being off-handed was in his favor as he feigned the expected then grappled to the off-sides which caught Sylvia at unawares. While he had the advantage, John pressed their luck throwing his shoulder into the forward momentum. Sylvia began to overcompensate on the same side as the hard press but John just kept steadily adding pressure.

William now within a few scant centimeters of the other ‘carrier’ to give John the ability to evolve their tactics rapidly into more of a hawk and dove strategy. With the closed in space his compactness worked in their favor so he went for it all, shouldering Sylvia hard while he twisted his body with a forceful upward motion.  His palms dug into the flesh then twisted roughly to shove the other buck loose from his ‘carrier’ and backwards into the water.

The whoop sent up by the victors was loud and carried across the water, others added into the cheer as John was dumped backwards himself into the water by William. When he surfaced he clasped Sylvia’s shoulder in recognition of a good fair game, the other buck grumbled but accepted the gesture. The next sets were readying and everyone was spreading back out to give the newest challengers room.

“I’m going to go see if I can get a closer look at the shy one,” John gave William a clap on the shoulder with his best grin. “Want to come with? Or will I report back later at eventide?”

William gave him a baleful look. “John, you know better,” his friend moved closer to speak directly into his ear. “but I know you’re going to go anyway. Tell me later will you?”

“Yes, and is the pretty one with the green flora you’d like to hunt?” John guffawed boisterously, tipped his antlers to nudge his friends gently in comradery.

“Oh, you are a mad bástardos, John! Get you done before the light is gone!”

“See William,” The earnest sound trailing through his words. “That is why you are a fine wordsmith, soon to be scribe. Any doe will be lucky to have you in her ear!”

“It’s not her ears, John! She’s just lovely...”

The satyrisci dove into the water before William could finish his words, his friend would forgive him at eventide for the rude leaving. He swam long until he came close to a bank full of rushes he thought close enough to the doe that had been lounged as spectators to the buck’s sport. He peered through the tall grasses, the dark furred doe and her companion not far from his position. Mud, grasses, and the lakewater were much more potent then his personal scent at this moment which was pleasing. He was on reconnaissance after all.

Soft melodic voices filled the area, sweet as honeyed mead, warm as tart wine. So intoxicating that he began to lull his limbs relaxed as the lilted words wove him dreams of his bower, an ivory doe and their bodies entwined. Their bower surrounded by blooming myrtle, scented of sandalwood, cushioned by pure white and ebon swan feathers. He could scent their combined redolence welcomed him to wile away for a time longer.

The horns clarion call was brightly cheerful as it called those far flung home for the eventide. He breathed deeply for the first time in what felt like hours, probably had been, and could practically taste the hints of roasted onions, clover, golden saxifrage that had been warmed in the kiln for their particular clutch. Possibly grains too, just wonderful as his body was persistent in vocalizing it’s need of sustenance. He realised then that he had been lulled by a doe using apókryfes, well he could not be upset as he had been the one hidden, obviously not very well either.

Feathers, there had been feathers... myrtle flowers...no full long twigs full of blooms. He thought on his visions that he had been granted as he had slept wooed there by a nameless doe, possibly the one from the _orámata_. He sunk pleasantly beside his fellow bucks as they sat around the warmth communally sharing of each others food discussing the day’s news when their warden came into their circle placing himself in the center.

“Poté iméra gia na sas, young ones!” The silvery-milkish night skyed coloured elder stated as he sat himself amongst them, his slate eyes mirthful yet weighted. “This eventide, we will need to impart to you the last of the knowledge you need as the Autumn is upon us. Our first doe has gone into her time and so shall you all begin to awaken. We will keep you all herded until the moon is yet full before the revelry and Loosing. Two days time to hone your skills then it will be time for you to take up the ancient rite that has been handed down from the time-before-was written.”

As the herd cloistered in toward the kiln their eagerness palatable in the air, the warden finished his settling in and waited patiently for the tidal barrage that he knew would occur. These satyrisci had more patience then most, had been apprenticing with most of the higher borne due to their own diligence. He was comfortable in their companionship, each one felt as a son to him. When the first head raised with steady eyes focused and unaffected he smiled and nodded in deference for the questions to begin.

“Warden Lestrade!” The young buck sat completely still, all the same his earnestness was evident as his ears twitched. “Is it true that there is another, in the doe camp? We have one amongst us who needs.”

“And who would that be _Billy_?” Ander’s son piped up bullyish trying to assert and alpha authority that would never suit him. “You?”

“Silence your bleating tongue, Thomas.” Warden gave him a sideways glance laced with authority of the position. “Yes, _William_ it is true, there is a _charitoméni_ with them, so if this young buck chooses he, there will be quite the merry chase. Currently he swears he will only pair bond with the Fall!”

“May we have _chari’s_ name?” William queried. John desperately did not want his ears to prick up, so they settled on a slightly mad twitch. His friend was being the matchmaker, he had only heard of this before, never seen it actually happen.

“Holmes’ son.” The collective gasped out of sheer shock, as many of them had thought of him as androgynous, even though very clearly sexed buck, as his temperament ran toward scholar.

“Sherlock?” John’s voice escaped him, his heart beating more rapidly than it ever had in the entirety of his being. The air knocked away, he could only pant shallowly breaking a sheen as he tried desperately to assess his illness, but he could think of none that would beset him this way. Stars were misaligned in the sky above them as the ground below them had shifted as in the ol tales. There was something desperately wrong, why was everyone holding him on their shoulders? He attempted to use the words Zeus had graced them with. “Why? Am- I carried?”

“You, my buck, are starstruck. We are going to have to be diligent about helping you these next two eventides. It will only become worse until you are allowed to be ‘loosed’.”

“The Fall?” John was indeed dazed, he swore the sky was filling with swirls of golden dust circling each star guiding away from his bower to some other part of their conclave. “How is this possible? Just a name?”

“Names, John,” This was Bill speaking now as we was gentled down onto the leaves. “You know they have power, you’re a healer. This though, this might be worthy of a scribe’s quill.”

“You might be right young William,” Lestrade, warden Lestrade was with them. Good. Lestrade would protect him. John curled into the elder’s lap bleating soft huffs of sound. “I’ve not seen this in my own 300 years. For now, until two eventides, we need to comfort and keep him here. Please would you go fetch a watcher to me?”

Soft warm aged fur below him, he nuzzled, bleated reverting to another time for their culture, before Zeus gave them the words. Lestrade in turn gentled him running fatherly concern over him through their contact, carding his callused fingers through John’s sunbleached curls careful to not touch the antlers of the soon to be Fallen. 


	2. Wodes Waxen Greene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Translations added at the end.

So hath your beaute fro your herte chased  
pitee, that me n'availeth not to plaine.  
alas! that nature hath in you compassed  
so grete beaute that no may may attaine  
to mercy, though he sterve for the paine...

Sle me sodenly ~ Mediaeval Baebes

 

The doe satyrisci had a wonderfully airy and bright living space. A series of three larger under bowers interconnected to smaller communal areas for those who would rather stay mostly cloistered as the time of the Loosing was almost upon them. Housed within the woaded halls were tapestries telling their proud histories, scrolls both bound and unbound, instruments for music, almost all one would need to keep entertained if one wanted to stay within. Some chose to, others not as much. The one thing that was certain is they were to stay separated as per tradition until the revelry began.

He had been completely content, which came as a surprise to many, to slumber and work within the underbower. Honestly, it was not only fascinating for him to feel so accepted, but for him to be constantly challenged by his other satyrisci. He had learned so very much over the past several wekks he might have not otherwise, being _charitoméni polemistís_ had left some small frays in his voracious intellect. The watchers of the underbower, once he was ensconced in their world, had taken every pain to show him the ways he had not yet learned. There was knowledge they imparted on his intersexed body, practical and decisive. It was not common, but not unheard of in one who was _manteío_.

What had truely come to be the most challenging, albeit pleasant experience, had been the scrolls that detailed the Fall. He had been so very careful, the _orámata_ so very clear. His pairbond, beautifully goldened sun kissed flesh, tawny fur that still held in the lighter of browns. Soft temperament matched by his kind lake dark blue eyes. Darker unshorn silken pelt, modest to a fault. His pairbond wanted only his mate to luxuriate in the sight of him. Even now, this sent frisson warmth through him. Soon the heat, the rut, whichever his mate’s choice would be. A deity’s vessel, multifaceted as the deity themselves.

Artemis help him, he would be as brave and keen as her. She had chosen him, blessed him and he had been overjoyed at the capabilities. To help solve puzzles of the watchers as well as the wardens, this was what he would excel in.The _apókryfes_ wielded him for it’s use more frequently, sometimes it had frightened those who had never known of a _manteío_. The ones chosen, oracles, whose eyes paled to near colourlessness,who became gifted, honoured, by a deity. His had been true sight. As all gifts, this was both a blessing as well as a curse. This is why he had to Fall, why he must find his pairbond. Who else would accept his bleached ivory, with very little colouring? His observations? His eventual bouquet he had been blessed to be given the sight of in a dream?

To mate with someone who he was not pairbonded with, to know at sight most of his winter over’s deeds, thoughts even at times, as if translucent. No, it would not be fair to anyone who tried to rut with him. His watcher had offered shelter for the winter over if he could not find the buck his visions had been so clear about. She could understand the burden of secret keeping that had been tasked to him, how at times, he was spoken through even now. The invitation given, he thankfully accepted, he just hoped beyond all, that mercifully, the Fall would occur. The want of it was close to a burden.

“Come on then,” the melodic doe called him out of his reverie. “You’ve been inside for too long, you’re beginning to get that look that terrifies me.”

Sally had taken to him slower than most, she had been bothered at first by the _apókryfes_ mark, the lichen shimmer that had etched itself in the form of burns, then scars that were subtly dried honeysweet in colour. Fine tendrils shone brightly as he divined, reminiscent of climbing vines, a few on his face then down the shoulder to end on his palm to go back to barely visible otherwise. He found himself wondering if it would become just one more thing to set him apart. He was already introverted, his watcher worried for him. She seemed content when she saw him and Sally together with incurring frequency.

“Sally, I have been meditating. There is nothing to read I have not read, nothing interesting other then minor intrigues. If I wish to stay in my linens-”

“No, Sherlock, up and out we go today.” The darkly toned doe continued. “I promised Watcher Hudson we’d forage, or picnic, or something... anything to get you out.” The twinkle in her mischievous eyes brightened as she grabbed at the linens that currently swathed him. “We could go to the lake today... try to find that rutting buck you fancy.”

“Sally!” Heat bloomed across his cheeks, the wantonness actually spoken of out loud.

“You’re the one having visions!” The golden warmth of laughter filled his little secluded area. “The one wanting to be filled with faun before heat has actually set. I bet you‘d rut him out of season too!” Her laugh so infectious, he smirked even as his demureness began to get the best of him. “Oh, come on then, Sherlock. You lazy nanny!”

“Very well, if nothing else, for my watcher’s sanity.” He draped the linen cover over the bed of sweetgrass as he stood. “Come then, drag me into the fray.”

Subtle breezes danced along the reedy bank in the brilliantly warmed the glen, the length of the day teased gently into a hazy repose. He had been able to collect himself as they gamboled towards their destination, his companion as spirited as ever calling _ignis fatuus_ to dance along beside them. Ever giddy, Sally sent them ahead to gather the two satyrisci a spot somewhere close to the rushes, with the askance of flowers close to them. She had yet to give up on the idea of adding flowers and braids for the actual night of the revelry to his hair and shoulders. His vanity would allow for it, he would never admit this though.

The path that carried them widened as they reached the gentle dip of shore where most of the doe had settled. To watch the antics of the bucks who has shirked their responsibilities in the waning light in favour of the cooling effect of the water and exhilaration of sport admittedly  interested him, if only for intellectual purposes. Most of these small journeys out had taxed him as of late, as when away from the Halls, the other doe asked favor at times. Sally had seen to some privacy through the wisps of light, this too, he found pleasing. They could observe with only minimal reciprocation, Sally taking the forward closest to the bank would shield him further.

One day, he would ask what it was that turned her protective of him, even at times as today, not willing to be beat had taken the hard road to show she cared. She would make a wonderful pairbond and mother with instincts as honed as they were. They sat companionably for a while as the _ignis fatuus_ swirled and danced full of joy, their little beings full of light. The first few bucks had begun a game of jousting that was barely more noise than bravado. A game of spectacle, not of prowess. Sherlock began to haze a bit in the warmth lulled by the rhythmic movements of the wisps mixed with the soft sushing of the reeds as they swayed.

When the raised voices finally reached him, Sally had already stood, and was watching with a pleasantly predatory gaze toward the buck, obviously taken by someone. He himself stood slightly behind her, now curious. It seemed as Anders’ son had yet again, goaded too much, from the looks of it could possibly be accepting a challenge. They stood, watched for a moment before Sherlock began to feel faint.

“Sally, do you think it wise?” He spoke softly into her ear, slightly bewildered. “My _apókryfes_ , they are... reacting.”

“Is there danger?” She changed her footing slightly. “Sherlock?”

“No... not that...” Confusion clearly laced his voice, truth be told it almost tinged with fear, with excitement. “This is new... that satyrisci, the one who challenged. Who is he?”

“Not sure, but his friend is sure nice...”

“Sally! I’m being... serious.” He quieted himself, his body was transport, he was _manteío_. A quick deep breath in to steady his tremulous heart, why was it’s beat so forceful against his chest? As if it wished to hammer free of it’s confined space scattered into the infinite. _“Memento, homo, quad cinis es!”_ The soft green beneath called as he sat, closed his eyes. He could feel Sally join him, but she did not touch, she knew he was wavering beyond two planes.

The rushes thready sound alerted him in his heightened state. A buck was approaching. From one heartbeat to the next the words came spilling wild as his markings glimmered, sparked with a sudden rapture run through his very marrow. _“Intensus amor meus, et invenietis,”_ The tidal strength grounded him deep, the quick fire of terror replaced with pure wrought passion. _“Me plus quam in reditu liberalis-”_ Sandalwood, smoky and pure, awoke him. His pairbond warm against and yet above him, shielding, restful. _“-hircum de meus, mea Lapsis!”_

His Goddess’ and her brothers gifts, deep ebon and snow white swan feathers intertwined within their bower. Unfathomable passions railed against his slumberous body, his soul awakened he needed. Soon, he pled into the space without words, they were unnecessary, he would still be heard if it pleased them. For now, intoxicated he nuzzled into his pairbond’s golden curls, held securely until he awoke from his vision. He chose to rest in this moment they had been given, to cherish every affectionate susurration.

Very late into the eventide, Sherlock awoke in his small cloister, Sally asleep beside him. Watcher Hudson was not to be seen, so either the vision was not violent, or she was possibly cloistered herself after leaving Sally to watch over him. Supper sat lonely on his sideboard, but there was extra bread and honey for recuperative purposes. The tea had cooled, but was not unpleasant, so he woke Sally and fed her half the repast. Then finally he shared with her the warmth, the lightning he had felt, scents in the bower he had been transported to. This was more graven to him, his purpose laid out. She was cautiously jubilant, pressed her hand to his heart, promised to watch over him until the Loosing. They had much to plan with a very precious amount of time to do such.

The morning light brought along with it Watcher Hudson, who was clearly still continuing to fuss over Sherlock, and a large tray full of cheeses, fruits, and breads for the three of them. First she sat and listened to him then thrust questions to whittle through to minutie, so that every detail was inscribed to a fault. Then she tutted over him and Sally both for a while, extrapolating plans as she was concerned at this point in him taking part in the Loosing. The risk was very high already, as he would be seen as an unusual prize, but now with his pairbond, no his _Sponsus._  The names for one another _older_ , not even spoken in over seven hundred of their marked years, this was Fated indeed. Her new concern, an unknown enemy might come to steal Sherlock, take their primae noctis to thin their bond.

His John had been given similar information during the cover of eventide from Watcher Hudson herself. She was worried for him, he was fevered, but not ill. They had no words, no cures but rest for his body and mind, but she assured him that his Sponsus was being cared for by those closest to him as well as Warden Lestrade. They would, between them all, keep these two safe until the time of the Fall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your beauty has chased pity from your heart,  
> and it does me no good to complain,  
> alas! nature has bound in you  
> such great beauty that no man may attain mercy,  
> though he hungers for the pain.
> 
> Wekks: weeks  
> Woaded: wooded
> 
> Ignis Fatuus: whisp o’ wills (will o’ wisp)  
> Memento, homo, quad cinis es: Remember, o man, that you are ashes  
> Intensus amor meus, et invenietis: My intense love, and you shall find  
> Me plus quam in reditu liberalis: Me more than generous in return  
> Hircum de meus, mea Lapsis: My buck, my one who has Fallen  
> Sponsus: Bridegroom  
> Primae Noctis: first night
> 
> Thank you for coming by, I hope you all are enjoying this world.  
> Happy Midsomer!
> 
> Please feel free to comment or say hi!


	3. Northerne Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for joining me in exploration! As always, new translations/explanations within the End Notes.

_To Love I putte pleintes mo_

_How Siking me hath siwed so_

_And eke Thoght me thrat to slo_

_With maistry yef he mighte_

_And Sorewe sore in balful bende_

_The he wolde for this hende_

_Me lede to my lives ende_

_Unlahfulliche in lighte..._

 

Northerne Wind ~ Mediaeval Baebes

 

 

He was warm, his head pillowed on someone’s legs. Even though the scent was familiar he knew he should be more alarmed than he currently was, there was no reason for another to be in his bower. Sacred spaces such as these were not to be sullied, scents mingled, until only after the pairbond had been solidly forged. He looked up to meet a pair of verdigris eyes studying him. Passion burned brightly within their depths as a thumb caressed his lips to simultaneously silence them, stoking his desire within the same pleasing moment.

The quieted _chari_ beneath him, stretched langorous, seemingly in want of nothing more the two of them tangled, nothing between them. Sherlock would not break his gaze as if he were discovering something quite wondrous as the quiet gasp left his own mouth. He could feel burning, the light increased in their bower but they were unafraid, nothing could harm them here in this place. The heat invaded his veins as it was his turn to gasp, the liquid fire filled him until it spilled to his fingertips before Sherlock’s _apókryfes_ lit until they were both on fire. Their bower a pyre for their passions to be sacrificed upon. Nothing sweeter had he ever known.

“Sleep, Wot’s son, tis’ bout a draeme...” Fair voices surrounded him, even as they caused alarm the lilt was restful. He could do nothing but to float along until sleep claimed him once more.

“I believe his fever is worsening,” Warden Lestrade’s voice was full of concern for him, he wished he could respond. “The satyrisci is burning, Emma, what are we to do with him?”

“I do not know, Gregory... throw him in the lake!” She huffed close to his ear causing it to twitch in reflex. “I have my own to care for! Sherlock is at his wit’s end with the waiting. I thought he was impatience personified before! Now... and this is just-”

“Emma, gentle yourself. I’ll wake him after you’ve left and give him the token sent... but I do not know how I’m going to keep John calmed until...” Warden Lestrade allowed the words to die away as he recieved something in his hands, soft from the rustle it made John thought. “Well then, this seals it. John will be mad with want and with this. Wonderful.” The dour tone would have John laughing if he could. He found himself wishing he could wake to see what had put his warden in such a state.

“I’m off for now, _Parakaloúme na frontísoun_.”

“ _Parakaloúme na frontísoun_ , Emma.”

The bower was too bright, and the scent was off, his pairbond would never accept this. He shook with frustration as his eyes opened to survey the damage he would have to repair before two eventides from now. What met his eyes though, was a wonder, a canvassed enclosure they used for those who were injured. John knew these well, himself being trained in them.

“Wha-” The word had just begun to escape as Watcher Lestrade cut him off with urgency in his voice.

“No, John... you must listen, you will have a chance to speak soon.” The warden seemed uncomfortable enough to make John pause in his complaint. “You’ve been... you are... you have a _Sponsa_ , a betrothal. You have begun the Fall already, but you cannot hunt yet. Your pairbond has not began heat... it’s quite complicated.”

He found himself full of rueful laughter, “When has anything been easy where Sherlock is concerned?”

“You know who- How?” Watcher Lestrade was confounded. “I don’t understand.”

He felt both light and heavy all at once before the world began to spin before him. How to explain the visions? The dreams? Sherlock warm in his arms, the soft breath he had felt along his hair that had teased at the base of his antlers. The heat that was present without the need to act because he knew... he felt what was his.

“I knew at the mention of his name,” This seemed the simplest answer. “But, _Sponsa_? Shouldn’t it be _Sponsus_? Sherlock is a _chari_ , is he not?” John was becoming as confused as warden Lestrade seemed to be himself. “How could he become a doe? It’s an impossibility...”

“Not for _manteío_ , he is chosen, the _apókryfes_ seared to him as Artemis chose him, just as Apollo has chose you.” John began to have a larger understanding as to why he was in the tents. As the realization dawned in his sky blue eyes, warden Lestrade nodded. “Aie, John. Your _apókryfes_ is now apparent to all. We know not yet, though, what this means... you are unchanged, still solely buck... which is most often the case. Sherlock, he is intersexed which means he would-”

“Borne our trio, if we are blessed.” John finished before he had known he spoke, the last word caught as he recognised his voice. “I... dreamt while I slept.” The memory potent, overcame him enough for him to tear. “I need... to go to him...” All other thoughts banished in the rush of the weight of the bond yet to be finished.

“Hold, John.” Watcher Lestrade placed a steady hand on the satyrisci, “It is not yet time, but soon, very soon. For now, you need rest and sustenance, you’ve been gone from us.”

He closed his eyes, took a moment to sink back into himself. He was- “Wait... am I _manteío_ , I can feel the... and visions?” His breath caught heavily. “My eyes... my fur?” As he looked down, he seemed no different to himself except the firelight glowing along the new leylines that marked his _apókryfes_. “Am I changed anymore?”

The warden looked haggard, yet pleased John had not fought further. “Not but for the _apókryfes_ and your eyes, no.”

“Sherlock?” He could not but think on him, his worry bone deep. “Is he well? Does he know I am changed? I may not-” No, that was ridiculous, he had felt them, had known. He shook his head and continued. “Has he word for me?”

“Yes, a token actually.” The warden’s face was a picture of vexation, which John could not hold the mirth this caused, giddy laughter bubbling at his poor warden’s plight. “John, honestly... please calm your moods. I was charged to give this, and so I shall, but so help me...” Warden Lestrade just shook his head minutely before handing over the parcel. “I’ll just give you... a moment to...” With an obtuse hand gesture toward the parcel and leary eye, he nodded and left closing the fabric behind him.

He scented the tied fabric, immediately knowing who had touched and how many times. At the base of them all, Sherlock. And only two others, familiar, good. No one else near his _Sponsa_... only his watcher, possibly one other, safe. The ribbon tied, a deep lake blue, he had been thought of even as this was sent from his pairbond. Sherlock, even in this, had to be showing him that he knew him intimately already. Had memorised as John had memorised while ensconced in the vision... no the dream.

The ribbon undone, he pressed back the fabric to reveal a small beryl with a lock of ebon encased within strung on one of the finest braids of silk he had ever seen. It was only the width of a nail crescent, but he knew the strength was ten times that. Once tied, he would be hard pressed to lose it. This, this scent, he inhaled deeply, was his... so very soon. Underneath, a second cloth enclosed that he opened reverently as he could already feel the resonance in his new markings. Two perfect primary feathers, one ebon, the other pure white.

Exquisite gifts, he wished he could return, but there was no time for it now. Later though, later his mate would have anything he wished, if within John’s ability. He wondered if Sherlock had been taken at unawares as he initially had, or if he had been shy due to the knowledge of the bond, possibly worried. He had nothing to fear, he knew it well. His gifts had proven that if nothing else. He would have to have a beryl fashioned for Sherlock as well, possibly more intricate as he would have the time. A gifting of something that _intimate_ , it was to make John yearn for him... there would be time later to ruminate... now was time for action.

He called Warden Lestrade back in immediately. “I am going to need a few things before this eventide, tonight is the Loosing is it not?”

“Yes, if the moon allows it. She was shy last eventide, and may still yet be.”

John thought on this, the time he missed, honestly was a blessed relief. The burning was stoked, had he not been... where he had... he might not be sane at this moment. As it was, the only thing holding him together was the knowledge that he was not insane, that indeed, Sherlock would be his. That he would be his pairbonds’ as well, that the Fall... oh the Fall would incinerate him and leave him in ashe to be reborn at the altar of his lover’s feet.  

“One full passage of light was I gone?” He had wondered, but had been so thankful, he had not thought to ask these things before. “I will need William. Will he be with me... does he know of my condition?”

“He has yet to leave you actually.” A warm smile crept onto the warden’s face. “One blessed satyrisci you are, John. I’m sure he will second for you and take the next eventide for his own hunt. You have but to ask him.”

“Could you deliver to me sandalwood, rose oil, and jasmine?” He knew he was asking more then his right of his warden. “Warden Lestrade, please could you... this one task?”

“Yes John,” Now a knowing smile plastered to his face. “I will return presently with what you need. Would you also have something to lash the feathers into your hair? Some rolls dusted with cinnamon for your respite?”

John was blushing furiously, even as a fierceness rose in his eyes as he met the wardens. “Yes, please Warden Lestrade... thank you.”

William came in shortly after and they discussed the changes and wondered at it all. John had secured his friend as second and was taking his meal slowly when the warden returned with the asked for items before leaving to take his own meal.

“I am nervous about this John,” William nervously twitched. “I’ve not anointed someone yet... are you sure you can’t do it? I’ll tie the necklace and plait your hair... I’ve sisters so I know how... I’d be better for that. The anointing, you should... I think it should only be your scent mingling honestly.”

“You might have a point, William. Alright then, would you please?” His emotions were miniature eddies and whorls of delight and dread. “I want... it to be just-”

“ _Right_ , John. You want it to feel right.” William’s soft smile reached his eyes and lit his face. “That is exactly how I feel... have felt about when I find my own doe. Pairbond or no, I want it to be right.” His hands worked methodically to wrought thin twin braids, each with one of the feathers safely worked in, strung on a thread of silk used for suturing before each braid was tied and knotted. “There, just so.” William sounded extremely satisfied as he handed John a looking glass to admire the feathers, then turned to tie the beryl in place around John’s neck.

The sharp intake startled William, of that John was sorry, but he had forgotten about the loss of color in his eyes. They were still lively, merry even, but most of the color was indeed leeched, left them a soft summer sky blue in stead of the depths he was accustomed to.

“When I first saw them,” William spoke quietly. “It terrified me, for your sake. I was worried you’d been cursed-”

“No, William, blessed. I believe we will both be.” John spoke with certainty. “Now, to the bath with me... I’ll anoint afterward. I need to be cleaned... won’t be right otherwise.”

“Are you sure about that?” William chucked behind him as he goaded him toward the healers pools. “I’m to understand waiting to bathe makes your scenting a doe more swift?”

“And who wants that... us?” He laughed again, this time with knowledge behind it. “Oh, William we want a merry chase, to court properly, do we not?”

“Says you, John, who has begun to Fall...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I petition love again and again Saying how sighing has followed me  
> And logic threatens to overpower and destroy me As if he could  
> And sorrow would keep me in dire bondage To this fair creature  
> Shamelessly and against all the rules Until my life's end
> 
>  
> 
> bout: but  
> draeme: dream  
> Parakaloúme na frontísoun: Please take care  
> Sponsa: bride/betrothed
> 
> rose, jasmine, sandalwood: courage, healing, and love  
> cinnamon: lust
> 
> As always, thank you for reading along...

**Author's Note:**

> love me fedde and love me ledde and love me lette here.  
> Love sustained me and love guided me and love abandoned me here.
> 
>  
> 
> -satyrisci: young satyr  
> -the Fall: ones finding of true pairbond.  
> -Bower: wintering over spot for mated/bonded  
> -Bondfires: two to three week period of birthing (celebration)  
> -Sikinnis Dance: greek mythos origin. dance satyrs performed  
> (using for courting gearing up for the Loosing)  
> -Loosing: Immediately following revelries, the satyrisci, being driven  
> into the beginnings of heat/rut are playfully driven into the aged forest  
> -Conclave: Clutch of Satyr; family groups that are ‘villaged’ together  
> -Warden: someone who acts as a keeper of sorts  
> -Watcher: someone who is a look out of sorts
> 
> Greetings/ Language used:
> 
> -Poté iméra gia na sas: Ever day to you (sort of a nod to ‘may the sun always shine upon you’)  
> -péos: penis  
> -charitoméni polemistís: graceful warrior (attracted to same sexed)  
> -apókryfes: arcanum  
> -éfthrafsto: fragile/ brittle/ frail (used as slur for stature)  
> -orámata: mystic/ gifted vision
> 
> Thank you for all who have stayed with me during this last spring. I know I've not finished much, but there have been severe family/health issues on my end. Blessed Peace and Love to you.


End file.
